The House That Still Holds Him
We went back to Vic’s house yesterday after the aqua park. The shift from chlorine and laughter to quiet rooms was abrupt. The house felt still in that familiar way - not abandoned, just paused. Like it was waiting. I lit an incense stick and stood there longer than I meant to. I spoke to him out loud, even though no one answered. I told him I don’t know if I can keep the house. I’m not sure I can afford it if I take over the loan. The numbers don’t lie. The bank won’t bend for sentiment. I was crying as I talked, holding the incense, trying to steady my voice so it didn’t break in half. It’s strange how practical decisions can feel like betrayals. In the background, I heard Kenzo coming down from the bedroom. Slow steps. He sat quietly on the stairs. I didn’t turn around straight away, but I knew he was there. Watching. Listening. When I finished “talking” to Vic and turned around, I saw Kenzo covering his face with his hands. He looked so sad, the kind of sad that doesn’t make n...